by Vicky Loebel
“Order.” Mayor Lennox struck his gavel. “Order.”
“Everyone shut up.” Charity Grambling glared the room silent. “You aren’t recognized.”
Where had they come from? Lane knew Janet and two friends were out here setting up refreshments—to which the town council had apparently helped themselves—but the judge was here, too. And Clay and Lacey Walker, from Casa Blanca, Nick and Willow, Gussie and Tom, all sitting in mismatched chairs. As Lane watched, more people carried in chairs from the auditorium. And Mike—
Mike. Lane’s heart stood still. Mike’s here. He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, looking grim.
“Pardon me.” Lane’s father-in-law raised a hand. “But I think it stinks, too. That is, Sam, if you’ll recognize me?”
The mayor smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t dare refuse.”
“Kind of you,” the judge drawled, “mighty kind. As I was saying, I also think it’s malodorous. If you were planning to condemn the Mimosa Theater building, Charity, it would have been decent to do so before my daughter invested so much time and money in repairs.”
“Before what?” Charity sputtered. “Me? Why, you old charlatan. This entire parking lot scheme was your idea.”
“At one time, yes. I admit the parking situation in Pleasure Pointe has caused myself and other people who use the docks a good deal of inconvenience. Something needs to be done.”
“And I’m doing it. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”
“I rather believe we should knock down the Captain’s Club instead. It’s not much of a building, after all. Barely sticks and paint since the last hurricane, and certainly of less historical significance than this theater. Why, did you know there’s a genuine speakeasy on the other side of this lobby in which—I recently learned—my very own grandpapa once drank more than was good for him with Mr. Orson Welles?” He smiled warmly. “Grandmother, I’m given to understand, made both gentlemen bed down on the sleeping porch.” The judge paused for, and received, a warm chuckle. It was blindingly obvious to Lane where her late husband had gotten his acting ability. She looked across the room at Mike, but his face was unreadable.
The judge nodded at Clay Walker. “This architectural gentleman assures me the speakeasy will make an excellent new home for the Captain’s Club after the windows are unbricked.”
“Hah. Good luck with that.” Charity tossed her frizzy caramel-colored head. “The boat owners will never agree to move.”
“In point of fact, they already have. We held a vote while you were over here marshalling your tin soldiers.” He placed a document on the table. “The Captain’s Club hereby offers to lease our property to the town of Mimosa Key to be used for expanded parking facilities.”
The room erupted with voices.
“That’s not—” Mayor Lennox pounded his gavel. “Order! That’s not the motion under consideration—”
Everyone talked at once. Lane couldn’t follow what was being said. All she was aware of were Mike’s green eyes, fixing her from across the room. Mike’s warm lips, twitching up. Could it be…? She’d swear the man was trying not to grin. His gaze flicked to Janet. The grin broke out briefly, and Lane was flatly astonished to see her mother-in-law twinkle back.
“Madam secretary.” The mayor cut through the clamor. “Madam secretary, call the motion to condemn and seize this property.”
“Before you do,” the judge interrupted, “allow me to draw everyone’s attention to how much money a lawsuit will cost Mimosa Key should the building owner contest your claim of eminent domain. It’s my understanding he’ll have the financial backing of several prominent citizens.” He sat and let that sink into their heads.
“Are you quite finished?” Mayor Lennox asked. “Yes? In that case, call the vote.”
Lane held her breath as the motion to condemn the Mimosa Theater building failed, two to three.
Was it possible? Had she won?
“Fine,” Charity spat. “Keep your building. But kiss that grant money goodbye. I move that in light of the theater’s heavy debts—”
“Which debts are those?” Mike pushed his way forward and placed a stack of sheets on the table. “As you see here, all outstanding property taxes are paid in full.”
Lane clasped her hands tightly in hope.
“So you paid the taxes. So what?” Charity snapped a chocolate chip cookie in half. “MCT still doesn’t have a dime to operate on. Maggie at the electric company told me there’s a shut off order—”
“Mr. Chairman?” Janet cleared her voice loudly. “May I speak?”
Mayor Lennox waved an upturned palm. “Be my guest.”
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat again. “I’d like to state for the record that Mimosa Key’s newly formed Pleasure Pointe Historical Preservation Committee took up a collection this week. We’ve already matched the town’s grant to our community theater and guaranteed operating expenses the first year.”
They matched her grant? Lane found an empty chair and sat down.
“In exchange for this financial support,” Janet continued, “we request a seat on MCT’s board of directors, priority ticketing for our members, and that a pair of memorial plaques be installed in this lobby in memory of Esther Goldman, who worked tirelessly to bring community theater to Mimosa Key, and of my late son….” Her voice faltered. She paused a moment and then carried on. “And in memory of my late son, three time Academy Award winner Alexander Talmadge, who would have liked to perform here.” She looked at Lane. “If that meets with your approval?”
“I’d love that.” Essie and Alex would have both loved it. “Of course.”
“In that case.” Janet strode purposefully around the concessions bar and took the check from Charity’s hand. “I believe this town council grant belongs to my daughter.” She handed both checks to Lane.
The mayor rapped his gavel. “Do we need to vote on this, Charity?” he asked. “Or has that settled your hash? Because my cousin Tillie is playing Queen Hippolyta tonight, and I want to take my chair in and reserve a good spot.”
Lane stared down at her checks. He knew. Mayor Lennox must have known MCT would win. That’s why he held the town council meeting in her lobby—for dramatic effect. She shook her head. Mike knew, too, obviously. The judge and Janet. She had the feeling even her late husband was somehow in on the scheme.
Everyone knew but me. They’d all conspired together to give her this wonderful gift.
“Adjourned.” The gavel came down one last time. “Now,” Mayor Lennox instructed, “take this table away and fetch me a drink. Janet Talmadge, I’d be stunned and amazed if you don’t have champagne behind that concessions stand.”
“As a matter of fact, Sam, our ladies club does have a liquor permit, as you’re aware.” Lane’s mother-in-law began bringing out bottles from behind the wood counter. The theater troupe streamed into the lobby, giggling, skipping, holding out plastic cups for champagne.
Lane pushed the checks into her pocket. Better get moving. “Backstage,” she ordered her actors. “Now.”
“Mommy. Mommy. We won.” The gidgets attached themselves to Lane’s body. “You got the money. The show must go on.”
“I guess it must.” Lane clutched her daughters and gazed at the milling crowd. “I wish I’d rented more chairs.”
Mike joined them, clasping Lane’s hand. Mike. For one instant, there was nothing but his beaming face. Magic Mike. “I don’t think chairs are going to be a problem,” he said. Eyes dancing, he showed Lane one of her Midsummer Night’s Dream fliers. On top of the image, someone had placed a large sticker: BYOC.
Mike opened the double doors to the street. Outside, along the sidewalk, across the parking lot, snaking around the Captain’s Club, was a line of friends and neighbors from Mimosa Key, each one carrying his or her own chair.
“Bring Your Own Chair.” Mike grinned. “The latest trend in community theater.”
“They’ll never fit. We’ll never get them
all in.”
“That’s been handled.” Janet appeared at Lane’s elbow. “We’re passing out coupons for free champagne to anyone willing to come back tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Lane savored the word. “Thank you so much.”
“I suspect we’ll have to get used to crowds,” Janet said. “Gussie just handed me this.” Janet offered Lane an advance copy of Vanity Fair displaying one of Tom’s Midsummer Night’s Dream photos on the cover.
Lane opened the magazine, feeling dizzy. “Oh.” Seven full pages featuring Casa Blanca and MCT. “Oh, my.” They’d even included a photo Lane hadn’t known about showing Mike kissing her on the beach.
“It hasn’t been easy” —Janet’s eyes rested on the photo of Mike and Lane— “watching my son’s dreams come true without him. It’s been a painful adjustment.” She looped her arm through Lane’s. “But Alexander always wanted you to have your own theater. I know he’s as proud of you, as happy for you right now, as are the judge and I.”
“Mom.” Was it raining? Pleasure Pointe was suddenly blurry. “Mom, I can’t thank you enough.” She gave her mother-in-law a long hug, and then she turned and fell into Mike’s arms. “You sneaky lunatic. You nut.”
How had he ever managed to pay all that property tax?
Lane drifted into the auditorium arm-in-arm with Mike to watch the audience filing in, setting up chairs. She listened to the excited buzz as Gussie passed around copies of Vanity Fair.
“Where’d you get the money, Mike?” Lane asked finally. “Please tell me you didn’t sell the Hermia?”
“I sold a half interest to Skeeter. He’s going to run fishing charters.”
“What about you?”
“I think I’ll stick around here. In Naples and Mimosa Key, handling supplies, arranging cruises for the Hermia and other boats. Skeeter knows a couple of captains who’ve expressed interest in my organizational services.”
“You’re staying here?” Lane’s heart lifted. He’s staying. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
“I’m sure you’re what I want. I finally finished reading your play. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. On my boat. You know who Hermia is?”
“The woman Demetrius and Lysander both want to marry.”
“The woman Demetrius loves wrongly. It takes a dose of fairy juice to open his eyes.” Mike kissed Lane’s hand and dropped to one knee.
Ohmygod. Her pulse exploded. Ohmygod.
“You’re my fairy juice, my Helena, my Lane.” He opened a little box.
Lane blinked back tears. She could barely see the ring, but that didn’t matter.
Mike took her hand. “I don’t want anything else in the world, if you’ll have me.”
“Mike.” Ohmygod. “Mike, yes!” She bent to kiss him and came down on his knee. Lane wasn’t sure how long their second kiss lasted, although she dimly registered the ring gliding onto her finger, the chuckles and knowing glances of people looking their way.
“Mommy.” Gemma grabbed Lane’s waist. An instant later, Mima grabbed Mike and they were forced to stand in self-defense.
“Mother,” Gemma said, sounding surprisingly grown up. Lane realized with a pang she’d be nine in two weeks. “Mother, Gussie asked me to inform you that Titania’s forgotten her lines, Bottom’s stuck sideways in his donkey head, and you’re needed in back of the house as soon as you’re finished smooching.”
The show must go on. Lane grinned down at her ring. A diamond, she observed stupidly. A beautiful classic forever diamond. “Duty calls.” She hugged her daughters and kissed Mike again. “Are you staying for the performance?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” If he’d smiled any wider he’d have cracked his skull. “Besides, my new in-laws” —he rolled his eyes slightly— “are saving me a chair.”
Mike’s in-laws. Of course the judge and Janet would stake their claim on him, too. Lane watched, overwhelmed by affection, as Mike joined them and received a formal kiss from Janet, a hearty backslap from the judge. And then she escorted the gidgets toward the stage door.
“What I want to know is….” Mima sighed loudly. “Does this finally mean we’re not single?”
“We’ve got each other.” Lane scooped up her daughter and kissed her clean hair. “We’ve got Jemima, and Grammie, and Gramps. We’ve got Aunt Gussie, Aunt Lacey, our friends from the island, and all our wonderful memories of your dad.”
“And Shakespeare,” Gemma pointed out. “All the world’s a stage.”
“But I want Rain Guy,” Mima complained. “And I’ve been waiting all summer. So is this definitely real?”
“Definitely honestly.” Lane stopped again to admire her ring, feeling exactly like a fairy-monster-truck-pirate-princess. “It’s our midsummer night’s dream come true.”
Epilogue
“OK, girlfriend. Make up your mind.” Gussie held up a pair of fabric swatches for the camera. “Turquoise? Or navy blue?”
Lane leaned closer to the chat window on Mike’s computer screen. They were ordering curtains for the flat above the theater as part of its final transformation into a modern three-bedroom home with real stairs leading up to a rooftop deck and panoramic views of the gulf.
“I just don’t know.” Lane patted her belly. She’d forgotten how hard it was to decide anything when she was pregnant. “I think I’ve got baby brain.”
“I think,” her friend from Casa Blanca teased, “you’ve got too-much-lying-around-in-the-Caribbean-sun brain.”
“Very possibly.” After spending eight months in a nonstop whirlwind of wedding, theater, and apartment renovation, plus getting Mike’s charter boat business off the ground, Lane figured she and her family deserved a lazy belated honeymoon.
Outside on Hermia’s sleek foredeck, the sound of laughter drew her eyes. Gemma and Jemima, in swimsuits and life vests, were helping Mike sand and touch up the paint on a few weathered spots on the hull.
“How about royal blue curtains with white contrast?” Gussie held up another sample. “That’s got a bright coastal feel.”
“Perfect. Go with that.” Lane covered a yawn. The humid air made her drowsy. Or maybe it was the gentle rocking of the anchored boat. “Thanks for taking care of this, Gussie. See you next month.”
“Have fun. And whatever else, don’t fall asleep in the sun. Ari’s bet me a Norwegian banana cream bar you’re going to come home red as a beet.”
“I’ll do my best.” Lane closed the laptop, smiling. Outside, the steady background scraping came to a stop.
“Good job, me hearties,” Mike told the girls. “Now, stow the sandpaper and fetch me primer.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” Mima piped.
“As you desire, mortal subject,” pirate-queen Gemma responded with more dignity. “It’s hot,” she added. “When do we get to go swimming?”
“How about now?”
The was a tremendous squeal followed by an even more tremendous splash. A smaller splash—Mima, Lane presumed—and then a wall of water enveloped the cabin windows as Mike cannonballed after the girls.
Lane grabbed towels and went out to join them, debating the merits of a refreshing swim versus a lazy sprawl on the deck.
“C’mon, Mommy. Shake a leg.” Mima swam, eel-like, to the stern, shot up the ladder, and grabbed an inflatable ball. “We need you for volleyball.” She tossed the ball to Mike and then let out a high-pitched scream. “Sharks! Sharks! Sharks!”
“Where?” Lane dove in for Gemma, but Mike was already boosting her up the ladder. He swam to Lane, helped her out of the water, and joined them at the rail.
“Where’s the shark, Mima?” Lane asked again.
“Right there.” A school of fins was gliding toward them not more than fifty feet away.
“I think they’re dolphins.” Lane squinted. A pod of ten or fifteen dolphins, leaping, spinning, and dropping down. Two of the smaller ones swam toward the Hermia and circled the boat on their backs.
“They’re waving.” Mima ran across the de
ck flapping her hands. “They’re saying hello.”
“I think they’re asking for handouts.” Mike and Lane had a strict policy against feeding wild creatures. “But we’ll stick to waving back.”
“Look, that one’s got a baby sister.” Gemma pointed at a young dolphin swimming close against its mother’s side. “Just like us.”
“Or baby brother,” Lane said. She and Mike hadn’t tried to find out.
“Or two baby brothers,” Mike teased.
“Three!”
“One will be quite enough, thank you.” Lane said. “Even with Grammie’s help.” Her in-laws were fully determined to be grandparents to this child.
Lane and her family watched, awe-struck, while dolphins jumped and splashed near the boat. And then, as quickly as they’d come, the pod turned and swam away.
“Well, that was magic.” Lane’s stomach gurgled and the baby kicked in protest. “But I think it’s time for lunch. What shall we fix?”
“Not you, milady.” Mike led Lane back into the salon and set the girls to work fluffing pillows. “Your loyal crew has got this covered.”
Lane reclined on the wraparound banquette in luxury while her husband—husband, the word still made her ridiculously happy—marched the girls down to the galley and returned with toasted breadfruit and a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“So,” Mike asked, shifting books off the table, “have you picked your plays for MCT’s second season?”
“Julius Caesar,” Gemma informed him. “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your—”
“Rears!” Mima flopped onto the banquette giggling.
Lane suspected they’d hear that a lot. “We’ve got South Pacific for our musical.” She had secret plans to cast Willow and Nick. “And my board of directors” —in other words, Janet— “wants Little Women for Christmas.”
“Good choice,” Gemma said. “Pencil me in for young Jo.”
“You’ll have to audition like anyone else.” The gidgets were growing up fast. “I thought the fourth play might be You Can’t Take it With You.” Lane thought of Alex and Essie. “It’s a famous old comedy about an eccentric family that has everything they need as long as they can love and take care of each other.”
